


Play Dirty

by objectlesson



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drinking, First Time, Genderplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pet Names, Rimming, Sabacc, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: “StripSabacc? That’s not even a thing, is it?” Luke mumbles, messing with a loose string on the sleeve of his tunic for a while before he glances up guiltily. “Plus, I’mbadat Sabacc. You’re gonna see more of me than m’gonna see of you.”He says it like he'sapologizing. Like it’s not the wholepoint.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker/Han Solo
Comments: 29
Kudos: 676





	Play Dirty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/gifts).



> For Blake. I love youuuu so muchhhhhh. 
> 
> For everyone else: the consent is not awesome in this? So read at your own risk I guess. Also you won't like it if you hate the word pussy. Enjoy!
> 
> Also HUGE THANK YOU to my wonderful beta Jen, who read this through for me on Christmas Eve Eve. You're a champion and an amazing friend and I'm thrilled you exist to appreciate my subtle and recurring implications that Han and Chewie have fucked.

—-

Half the rebels are out on a recon mission, so the base is eerily empty in the weeks leading up to Life Day. Luke wasn’t allowed among the ranks because he’s too high-stakes, too _integral_ to the big picture, the _plan._ Han doesn’t even know what the plan _is_ , he’s just a lowly pilot, a one-and-done hero turned grunt. He’s not _important_ to the Rebellion _,_ not like Luke. So he doesn’t get sent out, either. 

It’s better this way, he thinks. Spending the holidays on Hoth with Luke and no one else. This way, he doesn't get split attention or minutes scattered and stale like stray crumbs. He gets Luke all goddamned day: Luke complaining, Luke laughing, Luke shyly looking down so his lashes sweep his cheeks each time Han prods, and, _boy,_ does he prod every chance he can get. Luke is full of soft spots, bruised like a peach, and Han wants every too-sweet bit of him. 

They play a lot of cards, since there’s nothing else to do. Luke isn’t bad, but Han doesn’t let him know that. It’s satisfying to at least _pretend_ he’s better at something. To have one up on the great Luke Skywalker, who is irritatingly perfect, so much so that Han can’t even properly _hate_ him. All he can do is grieve over the knowledge his hands are too dirty to touch him the way he wants to, split him along a seam, take him apart. Still, Luke doesn’t _know_ how good he is, how pure and clean and _valuable._ If he knew, he wouldn’t be moping around this empty base, crying about not getting to go on the mission. _I dunno what I did wrong,_ he keeps saying, eyes wide and earnest and entirely too blue. _I just can’t think of why they don’t want me there._

Luke might be the Rebellion’s golden boy, but he also might be a little dumb. Or maybe just naive, or humble, something in between. Han doesn’t mind, really. It means he has a _chance_ to actually _seduce_ Luke before he figures out he’s above letting a dirty, no-good smuggler fuck him. 

Han’s been drinking since nightfall on Life Day Eve, and eventually it gives him delusions of grandeur, so he decides to try his luck. “Hey,” he says, flicking Luke gently in the shoulder, clumsy as he totters too close. “M’feeling _generous,_ you know, since it’s the season and all that.” 

“Generous?” Luke asks, rolling over on his cot to look at Han with skeptical, narrowed eyes. They're just hanging out in Han’s quarters, and seeing him stretched out is enough to get Han going, to make him start thinking about all sorts of things he shouldn’t be thinking about. It’s not _his_ fault Luke looks so _natural_ lounging on his dirty sheets, so ready to be bent in half. “You’re a lot of things, but you’re not _generous,”_ he says easily, arm extended above his head so that Han can see just a hint of golden blond there in his pit from where he’s sitting on the floor. 

Han decides to ignore him. “Nah, listen, I’m proposing a Sabacc game where I go _easy_ on you,” he explains. “One on one, no pot, just…we’ll play for something else. Clothes, maybe,” he offers perhaps too casually, careful not to look up and give himself away as he adds, “strip Sabacc.” He can’t help it, though, his gaze skirts up reflexively, just in time to see Luke’s blank expression shift enthusiastically to pure, undiluted shock, eyes wide and stricken, cheeks flushed a pretty, kissable crimson. 

“ _Strip_ Sabacc? That’s not even a thing, is it?” Luke mumbles, messing with a loose string on the sleeve of his tunic for a while before he glances up guiltily. “Plus, I’m _bad_ at Sabacc. You’re gonna see more of me than m’gonna see of you.” 

He says it like he's _apologizing_. Like it’s not the whole _point._

Charmed, Han grins. “Yeah, what’re you ashamed of? Pretty boy like you should be a _show_ off.”

Luke looks down again, coloring deeper, chewing his lip in a failed attempt at schooling a smile. _Bingo,_ Han thinks, fitting his lips around the neck of his liquor bottle and throwing back a burning gulp.

“I didn’t even know you could _play_ two-person Sabacc,” Luke says then, sitting up and carding a hand through his hair, which is _almost_ a yes. 

“Well, you can’t, not really. Not _traditionally._ But me and Chewie figured out a way, because fuck tradition, right? Gets boring on those long outer rim routes outside of Imperial-patrolled space. Gets _lonely._ You end up getting creative,” he explains, waggling his eyebrows suggestively because nothing gets Luke more flustered than the implication that he knows Chewie _biblically._

“Do you strip with Chewie, too?” Luke snaps predictably in response as he slides down onto the floor with Han, gesturing for the bottle Han’s swigging from, which is _absolutely_ a yes, in Luke-speak. “And gimme some of that, I can’t do this sober. I can’t believe I’m doing this at _all,_ I _must_ be bored. ” 

“Chewie doesn’t _wear_ clothes,” Han reminds him, twisting at the waist to fish one of his many Sabacc decks out of the duffel at the foot of his bed. He blows on it for luck and hands it off to Luke. “Shuffle and cut, kid. You deal.” 

Luke makes a face as he swallows a mouthful booze, and Han thinks hard about the fact that _both_ of their mouths have been flush against the glass neck of the bottle; it makes him dizzy. He watches Luke’s pretty hands work on his cards, the beat-up deck rustling against his palms a few times before he hands it off. “ _You_ deal, you’re the one who knows the rules.” 

“Fine,” Han says, shuffling it a few times to get his touch on it. Luke watches and smirks, because he likes to catch Han’s moments of superstition so he can throw them back in his face whenever he disputes the existence of the Force. It’s a thing they do. Han’s not sure if it’s flirting or not. He shakes himself out and deals their hands, studying Luke’s face for tells as he picks up his cards and frowns, arranging them. “Okay, kid. Your move.”

Luke’s Sabacc strategy is too calculating, too _studious._ He stares at his cards forever, chewing his lip and considering every possibility, and _that’s_ why he always loses. If he just picked a path and stuck to it, _used his gut_ like he does when he’s fighting with his lightsaber or when he _blew up the Death Star_ , he might be a half-decent card player. Instead, he waffles on and on, but Han gets to stare at his pretty face, so he’s not complaining. 

Finally, the hand ends, and Luke predictably loses. “Shit,” he mumbles, throwing his cards down onto the floor as Han cackles. “Okay, what do I do? I should have put _socks on_ before this or something,” he grumbles, looking down at his tunic and leggings, the only two articles of clothing he’s visibly wearing. Han licks his lips smugly. 

“Hey, don’t look at me, that’s _your_ bad,” Han says, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “Shirt-thing first, I can see halfway down your chest anyway. Shouldn’t be much of a loss.” 

Luke must feel differently about it, though, judging by the way he’s grumbling. He blushes as he pulls the tunic over his head, pink all the way down the lovely hollow of his throat where Han can see his pulse speeding. He squirms _so_ deliciously, half-covering himself with his absurdly toned arms, and, _fuck,_ Han wants to say _to hell_ with the game and drag Luke in with a fistful of hair, kiss him deep, feel the hot, shocked spread of his mouth under his teeth. He pushes the bottle of liquor across the floor to Luke instead, nodding encouragingly. “Here, kid, loosen up. You’re making me nervous.” 

Luke chokes back a generous amount, throat rippling, liquid beading at the corner of his mouth as he pulls back, coughing. “Okay. Damn. I’ll deal this hand.” 

He actually _wins_ this time, in part because Han lets him. He doesn’t want to be _too_ obvious about his ulterior motives, so he makes a risky bet that doesn’t end up panning out, which is _fine,_ he’s got clothes to spare. Still, Luke is hazy-eyed and smug when he strips off his jacket and shirt, two for the price of one because Han wants this thing _moving,_ wants to see how far he can push it before Luke cracks under the pressure and backs out. Or, you know, _doesn’t._

Luke is _definitely_ looking at him as he deals the next hand, at least. Not that this is new. Luke has _always_ been very partial to staring at Han, but Han doesn’t really know what it _means._ If it’s an admiration thing, an ill-advised hero worship thing, a judgmental thing, or attraction. Luke is too busy chasing mystic Jedi shit and leading rebel troops without even _realizing_ he's leading rebel troops to ever pin down and _read,_ and that’s part of why Han’s so goddamned hung up on him. He’ll think he has Luke Skywalker all stripped and dissected and figured out, but then he’ll _surprise_ him, and he’s left breathless and wondering and _hungry_ all over again. 

A few minutes later, Luke loses this hand, too. His leggings come off next, sliding down his thighs, bunching around pale skin dusted in gold hair. He’s not very tall, Han’s not more than a few inches taller than he is, anyway, but he’s actually got pretty long legs for his build. Everything about him is proportionate, athletic and understated all at once. It shouldn’t drive Han so crazy, Luke Skywalker’s legs _shouldn’t_ keep him up at night with his fist on his dick, but here he is. Staring at his own dirty floor while Luke shuffles so he doesn’t get legitimately _hard_ checking out his kneecaps. It’s embarrassing. 

They've both gotten quiet, stretched out on their sides opposite each other with the cards strewn between, the now-empty bottle of liquor forgotten somewhere behind Han. He’s dizzy, but he can’t even _tell_ if it’s because he’s drunk or because of all the sweat-dewy skin on display in front of him. Luke’s gotten so _pale_ on Hoth, lost his tan and the lightest parts of his hair since he left Tatooine to spend substantially more time in the snow then baking out under the sun. It’s nice, though. Han knows he could mark him up so easily with his mouth, his nails, his teeth. He’d pay a lot to hear what Luke would sound like getting hickeys sucked into the white tender skin of his neck or above the thread-bare waistband of his underwear. 

It’s fucking _surreal,_ really, that Luke’s in nothing but his goddamned _underwear_ right now. Han thought by this point, he’d be _wilting,_ losing his mind, trying to cover himself or hiding in a blanket and complaining that Han was cheating and trying to wiggle his way out of the whole game. He’s _not,_ though. He’s blushing, sure, but he’s making eye contact with Han, gaze half-lidded, even defiant. Maybe he’s embarrassed, but he’s not _scared,_ and Han’s forced to remember all the ways in which Luke is stronger than he looks, weathered by loss and magic and hope. 

“Your move,” Han reminds him, mouth dry as he rakes a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s not _military_ tactics, kid, it’s _Sabacc_ , you can just—”

Luke tosses his card down, eyes flashing, like he _knows_ he’s got a weak hand. Han’s heart leaps up into his tight throat as he realizes with sudden clarity that it’s _his_ turn, and after this, he either has to take his cargo pants off, _or_ he gets to see Luke naked. Either option will likely prove to have interesting consequences, so he tries not to get ahead of himself. He swallows thickly and decides to stay; his cards aren’t half-bad, and he can tell by the way Luke’s grinding his teeth that he’s not confident in his. Sure enough, when they reveal their hands, Han comes out easily, indisputably on top. 

“Guess you won,” Luke mumbles softly, licking his lips, eyes burning into Han’s as he hooks his thumbs into his underwear and carefully, methodically peels them down his thighs. Han’s breath catches, his heart stops, and time slows down to a hot, unbearable crawl. Luke’s cock is half-hard against his thigh, nestled in ash-blond curls a shade or two darker than his leg hair. He’s _wet_ , beading precum from the tip, which is exposed where his foreskin is sliding back as he twitches, thickens. Han is definitely staring. Perhaps too long, because then Luke’s hand moves to cover himself as he flushes, ducking to hide his face. 

“No, don’t,” Han blurts without meaning to, voice coming out hoarse. “Let me look.” 

Luke snaps up to look at him then, gaze wide and searching, weathered by loss and magic and _hope._ Fucking hope. And that's all Han needs to rise up onto his haunches, push the cards out of the way, and kiss him. 

Luke opens up instantly, groaning and spreading as Han pins him by his throat, fucking that plush, perfect mouth open with his tongue, desperate to lick away the burn of alcohol to whatever’s underneath. “Jesus, look at you,” he hisses as he tears away to breathe, watching Luke’s pulse speed and flutter under the crush of his hand. Luke is panting, pupils shot, hips rolling in desperate, messy waves, and _yes,_ this is how Han’s wanted to see him, what he’s been _praying_ for. He feels stupid and _mad,_ all of a sudden, that he couldn’t tell who badly Luke wanted this before. It seems obvious now that he’s tasting it on his spit. “What in the hell am I supposed to do, huh? Can’t help myself.” When he kisses him again, Luke groans into it, pushes his hands through his hair, down his back with a pressure so firm and awed and _certain_ that it makes Han tremble. 

“You—god,” Luke sobs as Han moves his hand away to mouth down his throat, lick the salt, scour his tongue on stubble. “You’ve thought of this before?” 

Han laughs breathily against Luke’s chest as he rubs his face into it, listening to the fever of his heartbeat, razing his teeth over to a nipple to bite. He can feel Luke’s hard cock against his thigh, heat bleeding through his pants, and it makes him wish he'd lost another hand so he didn’t have to _stop_ long enough to strip naked. “You’re all I think about. It’s a fucking _problem,_ actually. I suggested this game because I wanted to get you in my _bed,_ kid. I was looking for an excuse.” 

Luke is shaking, teeth chattering with adrenaline as he exhales long and unsteady. “I thought—I thought _maybe_ you wanted me, but in the end, I always convinced myself that I was imagining it, projecting. Seemed impossible you could look at me like m’always looking at you, like I’m—”

“ _Luke,”_ Han prays, nipping him hard enough that he stills and yelps. “How ‘bout you shut up for once in your whole life and kiss me, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Luke murmurs, threading his hands into Han’s hair and hauling him up. “Alright.” 

Han doesn’t even know what to do first. He hadn’t really _gotten_ this far in his plotting, and now that Luke is spread out under him like a buffet, he’s fucking overwhelmed. He decides on rolling him onto his back and straddling him, bending to lick into the sweet, silken heat of his mouth. He bites the smug edges of his smile, grinds him right against the cement so that he can hear him moan. Luke is so _easy_ , so _eager,_ so Han puts him exactly where he wants, holds his legs part and thrusts against him like they were _both_ naked, like he was _inside._

Luke will let him inside, he’s pretty sure. In fact, it’s fucking _stunning_ how open and hungry Luke is for it, sucking his tongue, parting his thighs wide enough that Han can fit between them and split him apart. “Want these off,” Luke mumbles at some point, shoving a hand down the back of Han’s pants, digging his nails in. “And a bed would be nice. Floor’s kinda hard on my spine.” 

“Well, aren’t _we_ a picky, prissy princess,” Han teases, and it’s meant to just be a joke because he’s shit at being serious even when he feels like he’s about to die, but Luke’s eyes get dark and hazy at that word, his cock flexing and dripping onto his stomach as Han sits back to look at him all spread out and slutty on the floor. “You like that?” he asks curiously, palming gently over Luke’s cock, which is rubbed a little raw from the flies of his own pants, flushed and slick and making Han’s goddamned _mouth_ water, it looks so good. “When I call you a princess?” 

“Yes,” Luke murmurs, glancing down, lashes sweet and blond against his cheek. “Like it a lot.” 

That twists up like a fist in Han’s gut, makes him feel positively _blind_ with desire. He’ll call Luke princess as much as he wants. He’ll whisper it up against his ear while he fingers him open, he’ll choke it out between thrusts. He’ll pray till his voice is gone. 

“Good. You’re more the princess type than she is, anyway, trapped out in the middle of nowhere, waiting to be rescued,” Han murmurs shakily, shifting down to lick a wet, messy stripe up Luke’s cock, not able to wait a single second longer to get it all wet. He loses himself there for a minute, forgets what he’s supposed to be doing, what sort of power he’s trying to wield. The truth is, he’ll _always_ be powerless in this situation. Luke’s the chosen one, and he’s collateral damage, after all. Might as well get a good, long taste while Luke still thinks they’re equals or, even more ridiculously, that Han has one up on him _._ He swallows Luke down and groans, loving the way he hits the back of his throat, the salt-sharp, spicy taste of his sweat and precum, the thud of his blood in the tight ring of his own lips. Luke makes the prettiest sounds, too, just like he knew he would. High-pitched whines, gasps, everything graceless and _raw,_ like he doesn’t care whether or not he looks good because he knows that _Han_ thinks he looks good. Which checks out, since Han can’t do a single thing to hide it right now. 

He pulls off in a mess of spit, drooling into Luke’s pubes, kissing the junction of his thigh where he’s humid and musky and perfect. “Pretty fucking princess,” he mumbles, hands all over Luke’s heaving stomach, his chest. “Get in my bed before I roll you over and eat you out right here on the floor.” 

“Jesus, _fuck,”_ Luke curses, limbs shaky as he crawls up into Han’s bed, making fists in his sheets to keep steady. “M’not—you _can’t.”_

 _“_ Yeah, I can, watch me. You think you can only eat out girls? C’mon, kid, use your head,” Han teases, following him onto the bed with some difficulty since he’s trying to multitask and kick his way out of his pants at the same time. “Wanna take a guess where m’gonna lick you?” 

Clarity dawns on Luke’s face as he flops onto the sheets, eyes wide and a little worried, but mostly just _starved,_ desperate. It makes Han’s mouth flood all over again, heart pounding in his chest. 

“You—I haven't _showered_ in a day, at least. I didn’t think this would happen _ever_ , let alone—you don’t have to if—”

“No, I want you just like that,” Han tells him, palming roughly up the inside of his thighs, gaze unable to fix anywhere as he drinks the whole of him in, then rolls him over onto his stomach. “I just beat you at _cards,_ princess. You should know by now that I play dirty.” 

Luke whines, rubbing his red face into the pillow, humping the mattress like the mere _thought_ of Han licking him out is too much to take. It just makes Han want to do it _more,_ the fact he’s ashamed, the fact it’s beyond his comprehension that Han would ask so easily for something so _base. “_ Can’t believe you wanna do this to me,” he says, voice muffled by the bed. “Feels like a dream.” 

“Yeah, a good dream, right?” Han murmurs, palming down the curve of his ass and squeezing hard enough that the pink skin dimples in white before he thumbs his crack apart, stares down at his winking hole. “Jesus fucking christ, Luke, so fucking pretty, knew you would be,” he breathes, cock throbbing at the sight. “Anyone ever touch you here?” 

“Just me,” Luke admits. 

“It’s all mine then,” Han tells him, bending down to lick the lowermost dip of his back, where sweat is collecting in the fine, almost-translucent blond hair. “Belongs to me.” 

“Yeah,” Luke gasps, arching his spine so deep and filthy, like a promise. “All yours. Even before this. Forever, if you’ll have me.” 

Han’s stomach knots up at that, in part because Luke is so open and vulnerable about stuff that it scares the shit out of him, but mostly because he _knows_ it’s not true. It’s a nice fantasy, though, to think about. Having Luke Skywalker like this every night. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he mutters, thumbing reverently over Luke’s tight little hole before kissing it, getting lost in the rich, heady smell of him. He licks him then, gut plummeting at the way Luke cries out and tenses, ass clenching in his palms reflexively. Han’s got big hands, so he has no problem holding Luke split open, lapping at his rim until it softens, relaxes. Then, he pushes his tongue right inside, forcing his way past the muscle and making Luke _sob_ into the pillow, hips rocking back to meet him. _God._ It’s so good, Luke is _everywhere,_ all over his face, under his palms, in his bed. He pulls back to suck in a breath, smoothing one hand down Luke’s spine reassuringly. “Fuck, taste like heaven, princess, could do this to you forever,” he says. 

“ _Feels_ like heaven,” Luke grinds out, between staggering breaths. “But also—ah—you’re crazy.” 

“Maybe,” Han admits, dipping back into Luke’s crack to fuck his hole open again, loving how easily he opens up, how little time it took him to cede to the invasion. “ _God,_ wanna fuck you so bad.” 

Luke laughs breathlessly, disbelievingly. “You can fuck me.” 

“Nah, not this time,” Han murmurs, even as he’s spitting onto Luke’s hole to see how easily he takes a finger. He sinks his thumb into him with only minimal resistance, and Luke clearly fucking _loves_ it, curling his hips, fucking himself back down onto it. “Maybe when you’ve had a shower, and we’re not drunk, and we’ve talked about this,” he says, pulling out as Luke gasps and chases the pressure. “But, _fuck,_ you make me wanna say yes. M’gonna rub against you, that good enough? Wanna feel how hard you make my cock?” 

Luke groans into the mattress, arching his back. “ _Yes._ Ninety percent of my fantasies revolve around your cock. Sucking it. Feeling it through your pants, you making me take it—oh, _fuck,_ ” he yelps as Han hauls himself up and rubs his cock lengthwise up his crack, bisecting the pale globes without actually pushing _into_ him. Luke feels so fucking good even like _this,_ burning hot and slick with spit. 

“What were you saying? What's the other ten percent?” Han murmurs against his ear, rocking his hips in a pantomime of fucking while Luke backs up against him desperately. “Me calling you princess? Or maybe baby? Been wanting me to lay you out and eat your pussy like a girl?”

Luke goes still and shaky, mouth open wide, drool glistening on his lips, his eyes shut and fluttering. “M’gonna come if you don’t stop,” he says. “You feel so good.” 

“This feels good?” Han asks, thrusting hard against Luke’s hole, pulling him apart and peeling back to hold himself up with one arm so he can watch the head of his own cock rub into it, snag along his rim, so close, so fucking _close. “_ Or you gonna come cause you like being my princess so much? Gonna come with me telling you how pretty you look on my cock? How good your pussy feels?” he asks. 

Luke moans, cheeks so pink that Han has to inch forward and kiss the one he has access to, though the kiss shortly turns wet, open-mouthed. He seeks out Luke’s swollen lips and sucks them hard, thighs burning with the exertion of thrusting, _he’s_ close, too, just from this. Rubbing his cock against Luke where he’s most vulnerable. “Your—your cock feels good. But I’ll come if you keep talking.” 

“Yeah,” Han huffs out, getting a hand between Luke’s body and the mattress so he can rut his dick into his palm. He feels _crazy,_ in well over his head, because never in his wildest dreams of Luke Skywalker did he imagine him being like _this._ So eager. So _dirty._ HIs head is spinning, and there’s so much he’s thinking, so much he’s wondering about, so much he wants to _know._ Why this turns Luke on, how long he’s _wanted_ it, how far he’s willing to go. Talking is hard, though, unless it’s murmuring filth against Luke’s mouth, so that’s all there’s room for, at least for now. The rest can come later. “That’s what I thought. Such a pretty little slut for me, princess. So perfect,” he grits out, heart beginning to stutter as his cock twitches, so goddamned _close_ to shooting all over Luke’s fluttering hole. “Gonna come against you,” he warns, curling his fingers around Luke’s cock to squeeze, to pull. “Want you to come first. Wanna feel you come against my cock.” 

That does it. Luke gasps and whines, and then he’s spilling into Han’s palm, white-hot and slick and perfect. But the best part is the way his ass is pulsing, the way Han can _feel_ it against the shaft, and then the _head_ of his cock as he positions just right and starts to come. 

“In me— _in me,_ Han, _please,_ ” Luke begs, teeth clenched, face a red, sweat-slick mess, and _fuck,_ Han can’t say no to that, so he lets go of everything to push the crown of his cock in enough to _just_ breach Luke’s hole, hold him open as he finishes inside him. Luke sobs his way through it, gasping into the sheets, and _fuck,_ Han’s ruined forever, he’s never, _ever_ gonna come back from his. 

“Jesus,” he breathes, rubbing his hands all over Luke’s ass, up to his hips where he digs his fingers in and holds him down while he writhes and spasms. “So fucking gorgeous. Look at you.” 

His dick pops out easily as soon as he lets Luke go, but he can’t maintain his grip when he’s so weakened from coming so fucking hard. “Luke,” he murmurs as he collapses onto the bed next to him, rolling him over, pushing his hair out of his sticky face before he kisses him hard. “You okay?” 

Luke huffs out a weak laugh, shifting closer so that he can rub his still half-hard cock against Han’s bare thigh, smearing it with come. “Yeah,” then, with his face buried in the ditch of his neck, breath coming hard and damp. “Did that really happen?” 

“I hope so,” Han murmurs, smoothing a hand up his back and into his hair. “This would be a hell of a dream to wake up from.” 

They lie there for a minute in silence, skin cooling, breath slowing, Luke covered in come back to front, so much that it’s probably getting irritating and crusty, but he doesn’t seem to feel very strongly about cleaning up. He's just draped across the bed, tangled up easily in Han’s arms, like he belongs there. Maybe he does. Han tries not to let himself think about it too long, but it’s hard not to when he can feel their hearts beating so close that he can’t tell which rhythm is whose. “Hey,” he says eventually, voice muffled by Luke’s hair. “M’not judging or anything, but why does that stuff turn you on? You like pretending you're a girl?” 

“I—no? I don’t think so,” Luke mumbles, frowning against Han’s chest. His cheeks are still so flushed, and Han can’t help but thumb over them. “Not in real life. But I spent so long thinking you’d only look at me if I were a girl. I know that’s not true, now, but it felt like that, and…I dunno. I thought about _being_ your girl.” 

“My princess?” Han asks, squeezing Luke’s hip, breathing him in and thinking that he doesn’t really _care_ how he gets Luke, as long as he gets him, any damn way he can. He’d admit this was what it meant to be in love, if he was good at admitting things to himself. 

“Yeah. That, mostly.” 

“Well, you can be that. But you know, I want you just as bad exactly how you are. However you are,” he explains, gritting his teeth afterward because it comes out a little more raw than he wants it to. Luke smiles, though, and then he’s hefting himself up out of bed to straddle Han, bend down and kiss him rough and deep and hot. if Han was gonna say anything else, it floats right out of his brain and into the ether. 

“You know,” Luke says as he pulls back, eyes half-lidded and deliciously blue. “You’re sort of sweet. For a guy who plays a dirty game of cards.” 

Han doesn’t even have a good rebuttal for that, he’s too lost in slickness and fire. In loss and magic and hope. 

—-


End file.
